Thursday, December 29, 2016

A dedicated reader (there might be prizes and badges...) may remember earlier posts about our adopted greyhound Sooty and the others that we have fostered until good homes were found for them (-after they were rescued by the organisation that we volunteer with).

Well here are two of them. Lazing laconically, cranked loosely towards the kitchen in the picture above, our Sooty (top) and Tippy, our latest foster are recovering from a bone idle, lazy day, waiting for some serious sniffing, and the business of decorating posts and bushes - checking their p-mails is what we sometimes call it. I don't mean to be indelicate here, it is just that the things these boy dogs do are done so artfully and with such consideration, to say simply that they are going for a walk is to sell them short. A walk for dogs is a sensory symphony. It places them in the scheme of things, the politics of local wildlife and the maintenance of spheres of influence when the hounds are walking the bounds.

Well, Tippy has been with us for two and a half months, and that is a long time to foster a dog. We have become a more powerful influence in his life as a consequence, and he also, in ours. He is a big boy and big boys are hard to find homes for. His becoming such a beautiful family member makes the inevitable more difficult to face.

Sooty is even more gentle and affectionate as he has become accustomed to safety and security. Whereas, last year a houseful of family and guests for a week would have sent him to his 'cave' often, for peace, he now engages fully and happily with all the people in the house. And wiggles doing it.

Tippy is naturally affectionate, and has a boofy quality I find hard to describe, but if I said that he has no agenda, limited expectations and just wants an easy life and lots of touching, you'd get a bit of the picture. He has begun to play with soft toys, to be exuberant and express opinions on life. He is inquisitive, hungry and very gentle. We are told he won more than $50,000 before being retired and given up, but he has none of the arrogance one might expect of a champion.

He is our eleventh foster, so I've met a few. For what it is worth, the three dogs that have been most temperamentally matched to my worldview have been Sooty, Smiling Bill and Tippy. They are all big and dark and neutered male, and while each has had his own troubles, needs, strengths and anxieties when we took them on, they all just somehow reached into me more deeply than most.

Wednesday, December 21, 2016

Initially, Annie was to be in the water for a week or so, but then she started taking me out onto the lake in the mornings (she made me do it), and pretty soon it was more than two weeks...and we wanted her in the water for Christmas, but a timely reminder from a friend about the speed of our weed in the creek prompted me to take her up for a bottom scrub.

I was surprised at how much biology had attached itself to her hidden bits. It took more than the pressure from a hose to loosen the stuff, and I resolved to antifoul her at some point soon.

In the carport again, attending to a few details over a couple of days, she is ready to launch, but this time I'll try to keep track of time. She now has a wooden jamb cleat on the underside of the tiller to hold a bit of line or shock chord (interchangeably) because there are times when the tiller needs to be held without me. Also I shortened the tiller extension by about 5mm to allow a wider swing of the tiller when the extension is not in use (it sits on a short brass locating pin to keep it from falling about).

Wednesday, December 14, 2016

The need for speed is a slippery slope that I have tried to outgrow since my forties. The thing about wanting to win and be the fastest is that you set yourself up for an un-winnable contest with the next level- that thing that you need to achieve to be better than last time. The bar will always lift above you.

I was like that with running twenty years ago. And it took the healthy pleasure from a rather sublime activity.

I quite like the rush of a good bit of wind, and the feeling that I need to be on my mettle to stay in control, but equally, (perhaps more so) I love the shift in thinking that occurs when 'getting there' is just open-ended, and dependent upon my interaction with the elements. This is the most precious element of sailing for me. When they are scarce, you really value a puff.

A trip in a sailboat needn't be all about getting somewhere on time, to do something. The sailing is the thing you do and the somewhere can be just taken as it comes. This thinking is completely outside the current Western norm. Meandering is almost a crime. The antithesis of the commute. Movement in any sort of vehicle is nearly always about getting somewhere. Listening to the noises of going slowly is self-indulgent. What does it achieve?

Well, quite a bit, really.

Forward motion without fuss can arouse the senses as much as banging high into the wind. If we feel nothing and hear nothing and see nothing, it isn't the fault of the experience, it is our impatient belief that if we try harder, more will happen, and this prevents us from appreciating what is already there.

I'm a hopeless romantic idealist who always feels a small twinge of doubt in any experience, on the basis that it could be done better, but this pointless, aimless sailing just for it's own sake gives liberating relief, and also perspective. This sail, that sail, this fast, this slow...it just is what it is, and what matters is what I make of it and what I take from it.

Thursday, December 8, 2016

Having Annie at the jetty this week (instead of trailered and covered) has enabled me to fine tune a few things that I used to be in too much of a hurry to worry about. But the details are really sweet- they give rise to pleasant little operations and habits that are almost as therapeutic as sailing....so I thought I'd share a few of the details that went into my boat, especially since the book I wrote about the Navigator didn't feature many finished details of my boat at all. I felt strongly in writing it that the book should be about the design in various hands, not simply mine. It is in the details that your boat becomes an expression of your priorities and methods of operation.

So I offer these thoughts in that context- and with the reminder that there are a few excellent videos and tips about other methods of set-up available online from Joel, navslipjig and others.

Let's start with the pic above. This is all packed up for transport, with a boom crutch at the other end, and here the tabernacle top bolt supports the mast, with the yard and boom under it, sails all still attached. The tabernacle is detailed in my flickr pics (-RHS margin of this blog) Hanging off the cleat is the mizzen mast with it's sail still on too, and it is suspended there for transport by the forestay. It is still attached to the furled jib which is, in turn still attached to the pad eye at the bowsprit. This is incredibly quick to deploy and very compact. The only downside is that the gooseneck maximum height for transport is limited by the height of the tabernacle, but I have it where it stays anyway.

Above is the boom crutch; mast on top, boom below on far side, mizzen near side.

I chose to make a sort of 'push-me-pull-you' to link the CB to the tackle because in this design the top of the board disappears into the case when lowered, and a solid link is really useful in either direction if something gets stuck. The CB case lid can also be removed with two through bolts if necessary, but I never have. Until today, I needed to leave the helm to lower the board if there was forward movement or strong currents because the tackle has a certain braking effect, but a simple line fitted from the front of the wooden member, led back to the CB cleat at the rear of the case has meant that I can raise or lower from the helm.

Not needing to leave the helm has many advantages. Left shows the throat and peak halyards and the topping lift on their way back to cleats on either side of the back of the board case. From the helm, the main can be raised or lowered and the jib unfurled, without leaving the tiller.

Below is a reefing block made from teak over a shop bought nylon sheave, and below that the same method to make one for the rudder downhaul. These are really easy to make and little blocks like this aren't cheap to buy.

below, the hull was turned (on hay bales) with the main sheet block for purchase. The rest of the pictures are just bits and pieces that give pleasure in the making and in the using. Many of these fittings would be useable on any small craft.

the beginnings of the tiller

all the horn cleats are from Australian hardwood. Of course you don't need to make these things, but they are a pleasure to do if you can make the time to do them. I made a side profile pattern from ply, used it to trace out a number onto a board then cut out the profiles. Knives were used to cut bevels and gradually round them to a pleasant shape, but you could use chisels or rasps.

Wednesday, December 7, 2016

The Cruise of the Teddy (The Mariner's Library)

In 1928, Erling Tambs and his bride set off from Norway in the old pilot cutter Teddy, with no sextant or barometer, and only one and sevenpence in small change. They had no special destination and no urgency, but it was the beginning of three years of adventurous and often accident-prone sailing amongst islands in two oceans. At Vigo the crew of two was increased by the gift of a dog, Spare Provisions, and at Las Palmas by the birth of Tony, and in New Zealand by a daughter, Tui. Moments of high drama occurred, too: the Tambs family were in New Zealand at the time of the great earthquake of 1931, and they were also forced to endure a terrifying and disastrous shipwreck. But the charm of the narrative lies in the delightful picture of the Tambs family afloat, and in their encounters with people and places in the more exotic corners of the world.

Sunday, December 4, 2016

That
first time in a Summer that you feel your naked toes on a bobbing deck in the warm sun is a
recurring memorable moment over the years if you are lucky. We're fortunate to get the toes on the bobbing deck thing all through the year, but not the naked toes part. Thinking about that, and
taking this picture of my blue/pink Winter Toes made me remember some thoughts
I tried to express in one of the chapters of the book 'Something About
Navigator'. It was the beginning of the chapter called 'Navigator Moments',
which was primarily to introduce a small collection of Navigator stories and adventures by
other owners/sailors/builders/writers. I hope you don't mind if I include a
piece of the preamble (slightly edited) here:

'Sailing
is such a compelling medium in the use of our bodies and our senses, for routines, skills and
transport but also simply for finding some space. I really enjoy the sensory inputs of a
nice trip on the water; the different sounds of water lapping or sloshing or
frothing or breaking; or the push-pull simplicity of the balance between tiller
and sheet- the hard and the soft, the easing or firming, the one hanging off
the other with me flexing and contracting in between.

The
lines have a beauty of their own too, whether braided or twisted, rough or
silky and the organizing of them can be therapy for an everyday cluttered mind.

A
gust rustles fabric and pulls at the boom, so the sound in your ears becomes
the rise of your backside and the weight in your hand. These things go mostly
unnoticed, but their interconnectedness makes them sensations as worthy as any,
to be remembered as special, memorable, and maybe even defining.

And what can give these sensations an edge is the
scale and power of the forces you play with, and the possibility of being
caught by the very things that are so beautiful. The routines that are
practiced make responding automatic, but in those moments when everything is in
balance, or your mind is in a state of ‘flow’, process becomes timeless, the
goal is just ‘now’ and nothing further, and expectations are forgotten. That is
my sort of ‘moment’.

I
find ‘flow’ in making things too, when a technique or a process is just beyond me, challenging or unfamiliar to me, but I proceed intuitively, letting hand and eye carry on
without my supervision; without logic getting in the way. This idea seems
strangely neutral, as though things happen automatically, and yet it involves a
very strong feeling of being fully in the experience. Focussed and more than
ordinarily aware.

I’m
sure that some of us lose something very powerful by not learning to use our
hands, although that feeling- of working slightly in new territory, is of
course at the heart of any creative project and in the thrill of an expedition too. There is the excitement
of exploring the known unknown, and the slight anxiety involved in planning for
the unknown unknown.

For
this to be a positive and comfortable experience, the anxiety needs to be
matched by some confidence in our ability to adapt as the experience unfolds.
Working even just a bit too far ahead of our past experience will be stressful.
We can certainly learn from that, (some even thrive on that) but most, perhaps aim to avoid it.

All
this without mentioning boat designs, location, companionship, weather, destination or
refreshments! '

Howard Rice's current expedition project was another motivation for dragging out these thoughts, and I know that many of us- even the armchair explorers amongst us- are watching with great interest and support in mind.

On the subject of 'moments', this little video is of a very special one I had a while ago, no wind, no shoes, waiting for a puff to arrive, but meanwhile just sitting with my feet dangling over Annie's bow enjoying the peace.

Thursday, December 1, 2016

Across the creek from us there is a sort of ramp...well it is more a gap in the bushes really, but after far too long (what with moving, renovating and the charms of Beachcomber) I thought I'd try this little sandy spot for a launch of Annie. The trouble with the jetties around here is they are generally set a bit high for compact and lower boats- I always feel I need a truckload of fenders.

The vehicular part was fine in 4x4 mode and she slipped effortlessly into the creek. I knew the foliage would prevent raising even the mizzen mast until after launch, but there was a nasty breeze blowing straight up from the south and in such a confined space behind the jetty pictured above it was necessary to cast off and tie up to a couple of trees in very shallow water to rig.
The spars had been revarnished before we moved so lines were all in the wrong places and it all took much longer than usual.

The sailing was certainly worth waiting for and Annie spent a few pleasant hours exploring Bancroft Bay and our bits of Lake King. Other gaff sailors will all have their ways of raising the yard, and with Beachcomber I like to see it going up horizontally until the throat is within cinching height, and then the peak can be trimmed. I had forgotten that the forks I made for Annie are a little tight to do that smoothly, so hers tends to go up with a fair bit of peak halyard first, and she likes to come down the same way. I'll have to get some tallow onto the leathers all the same.